The meal ended in a quiet clatter of silverware and soft murmurs. Plates were cleared by silent attendants with eerie synchronicity, and the warm light from the hovering chandelier dimmed slightly—as if sensing that frivolity had run its course and something heavier was stepping in to take its place.
Kaleran remained standing near the door, hands folded behind his back like a blade sheathed in protocol.
"Come," he said simply, voice once again pared down to its sharpest edge. "We begin with measurements."
The five stood, chairs sliding back in a near-unison that wasn't planned, but spoke of people who had all learned to read the same tension in the air. They followed Kaleran through the curving hallways of the Sanctum, the marble beneath their feet shifting hue subtly with the changing light—dusky gold to white steel—as they approached the outfitting chambers.
And there, they found it waiting.
A room not of luxury, but calculation.
